As Much As I Need You
by trinforthewin
Summary: Kurt was always the one who needed, not the one who was needed. When he finds a boy who needs him the way he always wanted, a boy who no one else can see, he thinks he's finally complete. It isn't until Blaine arrives that he finds out he's wrong. Dead wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Here it is, the fic I've been slaving over for the past month. It's definitely a new genre for me, but I had so much fun writing it- mostly because of how amazing it was to work with sweet-rabbit, whose lovely art you can find on her tumblr, .com.

I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

* * *

Kurt Hummel was no stranger to loneliness. He was intimately acquainted with the pang of isolation and the heartache of rejection. He was a veritable genius when it came to wearing a mask and pretending like everything was okay, like he wasn't hurting inside. But for once—just for a minute, or a second, even—he didn't want to have to pretend. He wanted to be able to let go, show his true face, and allow himself to be vulnerable. He wanted to forget how dangerous that was.

"Watch it, fag!" He heard a voice hiss, too close for comfort, before he was shoved hard and sent reeling into a locker to his right. The tote bag slung over his shoulder provided a small cushion for his hip, but his shoulder bone collided directly with the metal, the lock pressing into his skin with a force that would definitely leave a bruise later.

He allowed himself to lean against the locker for a second, his eyes closed as he took deep breaths. He could not retaliate. He could not shout, or cry, or ask for help. All he could do was withstand, because no one could help him. Not really. All they could do was use words. Maybe if he told the principal, the jocks would be reprimanded or given detention, but it would all add up to nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Even if his main offenders were suspended or expelled, there would be others to take their place. There were always others. Sometimes people whose names he didn't know, whose faces he didn't recognize from any of his classes, and he had to wonder what exactly he had done to offend them.

His dad would tell him that the kids were just jealous that he was so confident, but that was a joke. There was no jealousy involved—only hatred and blind ignorance. As much as his father tried, he couldn't understand what Kurt was going through, either. Because Kurt wouldn't let him. His father would get worked up, and maybe have another heart attack. Kurt had to protect him. Sometimes it felt like their roles had been reversed, ever since Kurt's mom had died. His dad had done his best to be both a mother and a father, but it was never quite the same after she left.

He wondered what his mom would say to him, if he told her about the bullying. Probably to keep his head up high and keep smiling. That's what she told him in kindergarten, when it had all started. He remembered coming home from show-and-tell day in tears, an armful of broken tea cups in his hand. His mom had taken one look at him before wrapping him up in her arms and letting him cry it out for a good hour. Then, she had sat him down at the kitchen table with a bottle of super glue and helped him repair his tea set.

"See, sweetie? All you need sometimes is some help to keep it all together. You can be sad for a little bit, but then you have to try to fix things and keep smiling, okay?"

He missed her so much. He missed the days when the solution to his problems was always as easy as superglue and smiles.

"Kurt!" He opened his eyes to see Mercedes looking down at him, Tina at her side, both wearing identical expressions of concern and pity. "Are you okay?" He stood up straight and looked down at them, silently thanking puberty for the latest growth spurt that had him towering over them now. It helped with his act. "Perfectly fine," he answered, brushing his clothes off and leaning down to pick his bag up off the ground from where it had fallen during his tumble.

Tina bit her lip, and Mercedes opened her mouth as if to protest, but he shook his head at her. "Come on, we'll be late for Glee."

He fell into step beside them, listening to them chatter about the latest weekly assignment and whether Finn and Rachel had broken up for good this month. He used to care about the same things they did—who got what solo, the slowly progressing relationship of Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury, the chances of them winning Nationals that year—but as time went by, he had felt himself withdrawing from their little bubble of contentment. He still cared about Glee, of course… but he didn't really feel like he was a _part _of their finely tuned machine any more.

Glee used to be a safe haven for him. When joining the Cheerios and the football team hadn't helped with the bullying, Kurt had decided to throw caution to the wind and allow his lots to fall in with New Directions. The bullying had increased, and he had become Public Slushie Target Number 1, but he enjoyed singing and dancing. He liked having a place to go where he could show more of himself than he could anywhere else. He had friends in Glee—Mercedes, Tina, and even Rachel had grown on him. But eventually they all got boyfriends, and Kurt was once again left alone. When it came down to it, he was always the person who needed, and never the one who was needed. And it hurt. It hurt to always care the most and never have it reciprocated. So eventually, he trained himself to stop caring so much, to close himself off to useless emotions that would only leave him worse for wear. And it worked. Most days, he didn't find himself staring at couples holding hands, aching to feel the same connection. Most nights, he didn't fall asleep crying like he used to. Mostly, he was okay.

"Kurt?"

He blinked, shaking his head a bit to come back to the present. Finn was looking down at him, an expectant look on his face. "Yes?"

"We were just, um, separating into groups," Finn mumbled, jerking a thumb behind him at the rest of New Directions, who were indeed milling about in a semi-organized fashion. "Boys against girls? You looked like you were zoning out a bit…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"Right," Kurt said, holding in a sigh. "Yeah, thanks." He stood up, trying not to look too unenthused. Glee used to be challenging, exciting. Now it was just the same old routine—Mr. Schue's halfhearted and repetitive assignments every week, and sitting through Rachel and Finn's duets in-between. There was nothing to keep him distracted, and these days, distraction was his best form of self-defense.

Kurt didn't contribute anything to the boys' enthusiastic discussion of how best to beat the girls, but if they noticed his silence, they didn't say anything. The allotted hour for Glee passed by quickly, and before he knew it, the final bell had rung, cuing his classmates' departure. Kurt stood up slowly, taking a much longer time to gather up his bag and sheet music than was strictly necessary. When he turned around, only Mr. Schue remained.

"Are you doing okay, Kurt?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "You haven't been yourself recently."

_Do you even know who I am? Do I?_

"I'm fine," Kurt said, the lie coming easily to his lips after constant repetition. "Just a little tired."

_Of everything._

"Is it—is it all right if I stay here for a little while longer?" Kurt asked, looking down at the ground with what he hoped was the proper amount of awkwardness to signal to Mr. Schue that he wanted to be alone. "I was hoping to practice some stuff…"

Mr. Schue hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, Kurt. Just make sure the door is locked when you leave, okay?"

Kurt murmured his assent and waited until his teacher had left before he dropped his bag and sheet music haphazardly to the floor and darted to the chairs lined up against the back wall, scrambling atop one with an eagerness he didn't usually permit himself to indulge in.

Kurt Hummel had kept many secrets over the years, but only one was still his.

* * *

The first time he had seen the ghost had been a couple of months ago, during a Glee rehearsal. Mr. Schue hadn't arrived yet, and all the kids had been goofing off with each other. Kurt had been sitting in the back, flipping through a _Vogue _magazine, when something had made him look up. Standing in the doorway, looking curious and maybe a little lost, had been a boy, maybe a bit older than Kurt. He was cute, with wavy black hair and curiously shiny azure eyes. Kurt had nudged Mercedes and nodded toward the boy, smirking a bit, but she hadn't seemed to understand what he was pointing out. After she had insisted that she didn't know what he was talking about and told him that he needed to "tone down the cray-cray," Kurt had realized that Mercedes couldn't see what he saw. He had turned to Tina on his other side, pulling her away from Mike to point toward the door, but she looked just as confused as Mercedes had. Then, when Mr. Schue had walked through the door and straight through the boy—Kurt was _positive, _he had seen it with his own eyes—he knew that, no matter how crazy it sounded, the truth was staring him in the face. Kurt was seeing a ghost that, for some reason, nobody else could see.

He had been scared at first, then a bit in denial, and then curious. He had watched the boy—the _ghost_, he reminded himself—for weeks. He would conspicuously follow him, learning that the ghost seemed to trace the same routine paths from the door of the choir room to the same straight path through the halls to the window right outside the choir room. Kurt had also watched others, had watched as the ghost moved through people. Nobody ever had a reaction. Kurt sometimes thought he caught a flicker or shock or confusion, sometimes thought he saw a face stare right at the ghost, but no one ever said a thing. And Kurt wasn't ever going to bring it up, either. If he was seeing a true, bona fide ghost, then he wanted it to be his special thing. Anyway, if he ever told anyone, they would think he had finally jumped off the deep end. So, he kept the ghost a secret.

Eventually, though, he had mustered up the courage to try speaking to him. At first, the ghost had ignored him. The second time, it had looked at him, alarmed, then disappeared through a wall without a word. But Kurt didn't give up, because Hummels never gave up. The third time, when Kurt had blurted out, "I can see you," he had gotten a response.

"We can see each other."

The fourth time, the ghost had given a name. "William."

And every time after that, the ghost had become _his_.

* * *

"Hello, Kurt."

Kurt had just been looking out the window a second ago, his legs numbing from standing on the choir room chair for so long, and there had been no one there. Then he'd blinked, and when he'd looked up, William was standing just outside the window. It was as if he had appeared out of thin air.

_He probably_ did, Kurt reminded himself, _because he's a _ghost_._

"William!" Kurt felt a smile spreading over his features, the first time he had genuinely smiled all day. "How have you been?"

"Well, you know." William glided through the window, his body flickering a bit as he moved before solidifying when he stood still in the middle of the choir room. "Dead." Kurt winced sympathetically, and William laughed. "Not bad, though. All things considering."

Kurt climbed down from his chair and moved to the center of the room, right across from his ghost. "William? Can I ask you something?"

"Only if you agree to call me Will," he said, grinning. Kurt noticed that he always seemed _brighter _when he smiled, as if all the light in the room converged in his eyes and made him shine.

"Is that what your friends called you?"

William's smile faltered, and the room seemed to get a shade darker. "I didn't have any friends."

Kurt looked down at the ground uncomfortably. He seemed to make a lot of mistakes when it came to his ghost. It was hard to know what would send him into one of his dark moods, and harder to know how to bring him out of them. He took a step closer, until only an inch separated them, and placed his hand on his ghost's shoulder.

Or at least, he _tried _to. Despite Will's sturdy appearance, Kurt's hand slipped right through his body, disappearing somewhere between Will's vintage leather jacket and the space behind it. Kurt jerked his hand back. It felt like he had doused it in freezing cold water. How had people not noticed when Will walked through them?

Will hadn't seemed to notice his latest faux pas. His gaze was focused on seemingly nothing, but Kurt had seen him get like this enough times to know that he was in a darker place—his past.

"Will?" he asked hesitantly.

Will looked up, staring at Kurt from underneath his long lashes.

"You have me."

Will gazed at him intently, as if he were searching within Kurt for something. "Forever?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Kurt shivered involuntarily. Was the room colder because Will was there, or was it something else?

"Kurt?"

He nodded. "Forever."

* * *

Kurt had his ghost and his ghost had him, and that was enough. They talked every day—when there was no one around, of course—and Kurt became adept at speaking without moving his mouth much when Will chatted with him as he moved between classes. Kurt told Will about his life, his loneliness, and his family. Will was the perfect listener. He bemoaned Finn's social etiquette inabilities when Kurt recounted stories of their family dinners, laughed sympathetically at Kurt's retelling of his latest attempt to give Rachel a makeover, and listened eagerly to any details about Glee, which he had apparently always wanted to join when he was alive.

In return, Will talked to Kurt about things he never witnessed. He spoke of McKinley in the 50s, and of all the trends he had seen come and go through the halls of the school since he died. He told Kurt about the various scandals he had witnessed, being invisible to most people. He explained why he couldn't enter certain areas, like the Spanish classroom and the football field—apparently he could only tread where had walked when he was living. Kurt noticed he avoided some subjects—how he had died, what being dead was like—basically anything that referred to his current state of _not living_. He seemed sensitive to the subject, and Kurt could respect that. But he _did _enjoy showing off for Kurt, showing him the way he could permeate the air around them with whatever Kurt wanted to smell—cotton candy, axe body spray, a Christmas dinner. His special talent, he had told Kurt, his eyes shining with pride.

Despite his new friend, Kurt sometimes still felt as if he were missing something. It was a feeling he didn't detect as much when he was with Will, sharing his day with the other boy, but the feeling of constantly looking for something and never finding it was always present. Especially when he went to bed, dreaming of being held by a faceless someone-special, and he woke up alone, curled around himself with a death grip on his pillow. As great as Will was, he wasn't—and couldn't—always be around to comfort Kurt.

At school, however, Will was an invaluable consolation. For the next two months, Kurt's life continued much the same as it had before. School continued much the same for the next two months. He was still uninspired in Glee and drifting apart from his friends, but with Will to talk to, he didn't seem to mind as much. The jocks still found an excuse to shove him into any hard surface that they could, but it somehow wasn't as bad when he had Will standing next to him, providing (invisible) moral support and hissed condemnations. Will told Kurt that he had been bullied in school, too.

For once, he had someone who understood.


	2. Chapter 2

For once, Blaine wanted somebody to understand. He wanted the world to understand that he was just a _person_, just like anybody else. On a smaller level, he wanted Cooper to understand how much he needed him to come home, needed him to be his big brother again. He wanted his mother to understand that it was okay to be different, to make up her own mind about things instead of blindly following whatever her husband said. And he wanted his father to understand that no amount of therapy or cruel words would change who he was inside.

But Blaine knew that he was expecting far too much. His responsibility was to duck his head and say "yes, sir" when his dad deigned to speak to him. His job was to go where he was sent and try to stay out of people's way.

Which is how he found himself walking down unfamiliar halls at the beginning of the second semester, pulling at his sweater nervously and watching his feet to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. He didn't feel right here. He felt as if he was being watched.

_You're being paranoid_, he chided himself. _You're the new kid, of course they're curious._

He took a deep breath, then leveled his gaze and bravely met the eye of a passing girl. She smiled at him, and he felt marginally better. Maybe his mom was right. A proper attitude and some manners went a long way sometimes. He straightened his back and strode forward more purposefully, bestowing another smile on a big guy in a letterman jacket.

"Good morning," he greeted, silently patting himself on the back for the minimal tremor in his voice.

The guy glared at him, looking at his clothing with disdain. Blaine resisted the urge to look down at his outfit self-consciously. He had dressed conservatively this morning! A knitted sweater, not-too-skinny jeans, and loafers.

"You new here?"

The question, despite its casual tone, did not seem particularly friendly. "Yes," Blaine answered, careful to keep his tone neutral.

The guy smirked, then walked past him without another word. Blaine sighed, then unbuttoned his sweater. It wasn't _that _cold, anyway, and if it meant getting less stares from the admittedly tamer dressed students of McKinley, then he would take it.

He found his locker, successfully dialing in the correct numbers to unlock it after a couple tries. He shoved his sweater in the tiny square, as well as his textbooks for the periods he had after lunch.

He knew McKinley would be a bad idea. He didn't have a very good track record with public schools. He touched his hair, subconsciously pressing his fingers lightly against the area under which a scar was hidden. He had _begged _his father not to send him to another public school. He'd done research on other options—Dalton Academy, which had a no-tolerance rule against bullying, or homeschooling, which wouldn't be any burden on his parents since he was old enough to teach himself with the aid of books. But his father insisted he try public school again, because Andersons didn't run away from their problems. He could tell by the way his father had spoken that he was disappointed.

_If you're a _real _Anderson, you'll face your problems like a man._

As if it wasn't bad enough going to public school after the trauma he had gone through at his last one, he was starting late. His time in the hospital after the… incident… the year before had cost him time as far as his education went. He'd had to spend the summer taking courses so he could keep up with his classmates and not be held back a year, and even then, he hadn't been ready to reenter school as a senior at the beginning of the school year. He'd been catching up the entire first semester, and he was on-track now, but it was hard to walk into a school halfway through the year when everyone already had their established groups. This wasn't kindergarten. He couldn't just walk up to someone, tell them he liked their lunchbox, and become instant friends.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. He shouldn't expect to have friends. Friends hadn't done him much good at the Sadie Hawkins dance, after all. Hanging out with a friend had been his downfall then. Maybe he should just spend the rest of his senior year surviving, and not try to drag somebody down with him again.

Blaine kept his guard up and his head down until lunch, successfully avoiding the notice of anyone besides a group of giggling girls who seemed to think his inquiry into the location of the cafeteria was the funniest thing in the world. One of them managed to pull herself together enough to point him in the right direction, so he aimed a vague smile at her and left the group tittering behind him.

He turned a corner and entered the first empty hallway he had seen all day. Everyone must be in the cafeteria already. His stomach rumbled loudly, begging for sustenance. He'd skipped breakfast that morning, despite his mother's nagging insistence that he eat something, because his stomach had been in knots. But now, he was starving.

A group of jocks—Blaine couldn't distinguish whether they wore football or hockey jackets at this distance—rounded the corner, laughing loudly. He quickly looked down, trying to make himself shrink in demeanor as much as possible. There were few instances when he was glad for his short stature, but this was definitely one of them. He found that people didn't bother him as much as long as he didn't make eye contact with them.

The pounding of tennis shoes against the flat linoleum floor reverberated against the walls and all around Blaine, sounding louder and louder the closer the group got. They were still laughing, although at what, Blaine couldn't be sure. Maybe at him. He didn't mind. Laughing was better than—

"Hey, new kid!"

Blaine looked up out of instinct, having worn the title of 'new kid' like a loose second skin for the whole day. Instead of a jeer or an insult, he was met with a faceful of what had to be red, frozen needles and booming laughter as the jocks moved past him, high-fiving one another.

He gasped, accidentally sucking in the substance and choking on it a bit. It took him a couple seconds to place the taste, but eventually it registered as slushie. He wiped his face on his hand, then shook it out in front of him. He was a mess. It had dripped down his front from his face, with the remainder splattered over his pants. There was no way he could clean this up before lunch was over, and anyway, he hadn't thought to bring a change of clothes.

Blaine closed his eyes in frustration. Life wouldn't always suck. Things had to get better, right?

When he opened his eyes, the answer to his question was standing in front of him, wearing a bemused smile and jeans that were sinfully tight over legs that went on for days. Blaine dragged his gaze upward, meeting blue eyes that sparkled with sympathy.

"I see Karofsky and his lackeys gave you the McKinley welcome," he said, giving Blaine a once-over. "That's a shame, he ruined your bow tie."

Even though he was freezing with the layers of slushie running down his chest, Blaine felt himself growing warm at the boy's scrutiny. "Yeah, well." He shrugged. "It was a better reception than I'm used to." He held out his hand. "I'm Blaine."

"Kurt Hummel," the boy offered, looking down at Blaine's hand in amusement. Blaine glanced down, confused, only to see red dye and particles of ice dripping from his hand to the floor. Embarrassed, he put his hand down. "I'd say I'm sorry you were slushied," Kurt continued, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "but if it wasn't you, it would've been me, and these are designers." He gestured to his clothes, and Blaine blessed whatever gods were listening for giving him an excuse to unabashedly stare at Kurt's body again.

"Well, we couldn't have that ruined," he murmured.

Kurt grabbed his hand suddenly, not seeming to care about how wet and sticky it was. He started walking, dragging Blaine behind him until his legs started working again and he walked alongside Blaine. He expected Kurt to let go of his hand once he realized Blaine was following of his own volition, but he kept a tight grip on Blaine, who certainly wasn't complaining.

"Where are we going?" Blaine asked, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. He couldn't help it, really.

"First, we're going to my locker. I always keep a spare change of clothes in there, and I think I have some pants that won't be too long on you," Kurt said, flashing a brilliant smile at Blaine that almost made him trip over his own feet. He wondered if Kurt had that effect on everyone. Apparently not, if he had to keep a change of clothes in his locker. "And then to the bathroom to get you cleaned up."

"Does this sort of thing happen often?" Blaine asked as they reached Kurt's locker and Kurt began spinning the dial to open it.

"Unfortunately, yes. If it isn't a slushie facial, it's being slammed into lockers or finding that your prized possessions mysteriously go missing," he sniffed, rolling his eyes. "And god knows those Neanderthals wouldn't know an edition of _Vogue _from a copy of—of Muscle Milk Weekly, or whatever they read." He opened his locker, then paused. "Although they did steal one of Rachel's unicorn sweaters last week, and that was more of a blessing than a tragedy, now that I think about it."

Blaine laughed, more out of relief that Kurt was a _Vogue_-reading, witty guy who wasn't afraid to hold his hand than anything else. Kurt smiled at him again, almost gratefully, as if he wasn't used to people laughing at his jokes.

"Here you go," Kurt said, holding out a shopping bag that he had grabbed from his locker. "Hopefully these work."

Blaine took the bag and peered inside it, raising his eyebrows when he saw a silk scarf and a brand-new pair of pants inside, still retaining their tags. "These are your _spare _clothes?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, yes," Kurt huffed. "Just because they're only needed for fashion emergencies doesn't mean they shouldn't be _fashionable_."

Blaine lowered the bag, looking up at Kurt shyly. "Look, I just wanted to say—"

"Don't worry about it," Kurt said briskly. "Besides, this wasn't entirely selfless of me. I was hoping you'd let me borrow this bow tie in return for my martyr-like sacrifice." He reached his hands around Blaine's neck suddenly, his fingers working deftly to untie the tie's knot while Blaine hardly dared to breathe. He held the unraveled bow tie in his hands, wringing it out so that a thin stream of slushie juice dripped onto the floor. "After all, it's not every day that I let strangers wear new clothes before _I've _even tried them on."

Blaine opened his mouth, wanting to thank Kurt profusely—not just for the clothes, but for his kindness and for giving Blaine a chance before he even knew him. But nothing came out. He closed his mouth, then looked away, afraid that if he looked into Kurt's eyes any longer, he would inexplicably start to cry. He stared into Kurt's locker instead, biting back a startled laugh when he spotted a Princesses of Disney lunchbox.

"I like your lunch box, Kurt Hummel."

"Thank you, Blaine," Kurt answered primly, taking it from his locker before he shut the door. "Now, if you change quickly, I _might _be convinced to let you try some of my stepmom's magical chocolate chip cookies before lunch is over." He turned on his heel and began walking down the hall.

Blaine stared after him, marveling at his luck.

"Are you following or what, Blaine?" Kurt called out over his shoulder.

"Of course."

Maybe McKinley wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

"—he has an _amazing _voice, and he's already gotten three solos in Glee club! And he's kind of shy, but he's super sweet and he laughs at everything I say, I mean, he _actually _laughs, like he really thinks I'm funny—"

"_I _think you're funny," Will muttered.

"Well, yes, but Blaine's funny, too, and I can actually laugh at what _he _says without looking like I'm talking to myself," Kurt whispered, using his locker as a shield to talk behind without being seen by passing students.

"I'm so happy for you," Will retorted, his lips turned into a sour scowl. "I suppose you don't need me anymore, then."

Kurt turned to face him fully, not even caring if people thought he was talking to thin air. "What are you talking about? I'll always need you. You're my best friend." He turned back to his locker once he realized that a girl was staring at him, thinking he was talking to her.

Will looked mollified at his words. "I need you, too, Kurt. You're my _only _friend."

"Haven't there been others who could see you like I can?" Kurt asked, careful to keep his voice quiet as he pretended to shuffle around the books in his locker.

"Yes. Quite a few, actually. But I chose you, and you chose me."

"So, what, you just don't show yourself to them?" Kurt pursed his lips. "How are you supposed to make friends when you're so _picky_?"

"Speak for yourself," Will replied drily. "You're not exactly Little Miss Sunshine, either, you know."

"I am with _you_," Kurt said simply. He closed his locker door, leaning against it thoughtfully. "And with Blaine, I guess," he added as an afterthought.

Will's pleased look at his first words disappeared, and he was silent as Kurt looked at him.

"What?" Kurt challenged, his irritation forgoing his usual reticence when it came to talking to Will in public. "Are you _jealous_? Will, I'm not going to just abandon you, okay?"

"You like him," Will shot back. "Don't you?"

"So what if I do?" Kurt hissed.

"You hardly even know him!"

"Yes, well, I seem to make a habit of liking people I _hardly know_," he snapped, looking at Will pointedly.

"I just don't want you to get hurt over some guy who isn't even gay!" Will glared at him.

Kurt opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling a bit like a fish out of water. "Wait, what?"

The bell for class rang, and, slowly, the halls emptied of students. Kurt stood there staring at Will, who was flickering in his agitation.

"He's not gay," Will said slowly, as if Kurt were some wild animal he was trying to placate.

"What are you talking about?" Kurt scoffed. "He wears bow ties and skinny jeans on a regular basis. Yesterday he told me he reads _Vogue_. Last week, I caught him humming the theme to Beauty and the Beast. _So _gay."

"But did he _tell _you he was gay?" Will persisted, drifting to Kurt's other side when he turned away in irritation.

"No." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Did he tell you he wasn't? He would have told me if he were straight, I'm his best friend!"

"Kurt, correct me if I'm wrong, but people don't usually find the need to come out as straight."

"Well, maybe the world would be a lot simpler if they did!" Kurt responded, feeling slightly hysterical.

"I'm really sorry, Kurt." Will hesitated, staring at Kurt with pity in his eyes. "I saw him kissing someone yesterday. A _girl_," he clarified.

"Who?" Kurt demanded.

Will shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. Not anyone I know. None of those girls from your club who throw themselves around all the time. Just some girl."

Kurt blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. Blaine, who had willingly held hands with Kurt as they walked through the hallways. Blaine, who didn't make fun of him for having a Disney lunch box. Blaine, who came over to Kurt's house to watch musicals and sang his favorite songs at the top of his lungs. Blaine, who he had only known for a little over two months.

"Oh my god," Kurt said, horrified as the realization dawned on him. "I made the whole thing up in my head, didn't I?"

"Try not to be too hard on yourself." Will lifted his hand as if to pat Kurt's back, then seemed to think twice and lowered it.

"I just assumed—and he _let _me—oh god, he probably thinks I'm some kind of—some kind of gay predator," Kurt groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"Probably," Will agreed.

Kurt lowered his hands to glare at the ghost. "You're looking far too happy about my humiliation."

"I'm not _happy," _Will said indignantly, his lips twitching.

"Liar." Kurt stuck his tongue out. "You're glowing with happiness."

"I am not."

"No, you _literally are_." Kurt pointed to Will, whose entire form shimmered with an incandescent light.

"I'm not—I'm just—"

"Can ghosts blush?" Kurt wondered aloud. "Because I'm pretty sure you are."

"I just want you to be happy," Will said, gazing at Kurt with a quiet intensity. "I don't like it when you're sad."

"I'm not sad," Kurt replied, a bit startled at Will's sudden shift in demeanor. "I guess I didn't know Blaine as well as I thought I did. It's just a crush. I'll get over it." He sighed. "Eventually."

"You don't need him, anyway," Will said confidently. "You're better off without him."

"You think so?"

"Definitely. You're perfect."

Kurt shook his head. "Now _I'm _blushing. But thank you."

"Any time." Will smiled.

"Thank you for what?"

Kurt turned around, wide-eyed, only to see Blaine standing at his shoulder and looking at him quizzically. "Blaine! Hi. I, um, didn't see you there."

"Then who were you talking to?" Blaine looked around, as if Kurt was hiding someone behind him. Which, technically, he kind of was. He heard a quiet sigh from Will, but he didn't dare turn around to see what he was doing. Blaine probably already thought he was insane.

"I was talking to… myself. I was thanking myself for… remembering… my hair spray," Kurt invented wildly. "Yes. Thank you, me!" He patted himself on his head, trying to ignore the quiet laughter from Will.

"Right." Blaine dragged out the word, then laughed. "You're a strange one, Mr. Hummel." He grabbed Kurt's hand. "Come on, the tardy bell is going to ring any second."

Kurt allowed Blaine to pull him for a few steps, then abruptly jerked his hand out of Blaine's grasp. That's what they were, a hand in the hallway, reaching out to help. But that couldn't define them. Not anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to play off his movement, but he didn't miss the hurt expression that flashed across Blaine's face before he reverted to the mild visage he usually wore. He tried not to let himself feel guilty. This was for the better. He would be happy about this in the end, when he and Blaine had maintained their friendship without Kurt's own messy feelings getting in the way. They would both be happy in the end, Blaine with his girlfriend and Kurt with his… friend. It would all work out in the end.

He chanced a glance behind him as he and Blaine walked to class. Will was still standing at Kurt's locker. He smiled at Kurt and lifted a hand in a motionless goodbye before fading away to nothing.

* * *

Kurt did his best to avoid Blaine for the next few weeks. He stopped inviting Blaine over every day after school. He didn't sit next to him in Glee club. He didn't eat lunch with him, choosing instead to eat in the library, where he could talk to Will without being noticed. If Blaine noticed Kurt's efforts to stop being so clingy, Kurt couldn't tell. Of course, he was trying _not _to be the person who noticed Blaine and cared about what he was feeling. Once he got over his feelings, he and Blaine could be friends again. But until then, he would have to distance himself.

He hadn't realized how much he depended on Blaine for his happiness. He missed him, and it was a constant ache in the pit of his stomach. He and Blaine had quickly become inseparable over the past months; not being around him all the time, not being able to hold his hand as they walked or chat about nothing and everything… it was hard. It felt as if Blaine had filled in a part of him that was missing, and now he was gone again. Kurt wasn't sure if things would ever feel the same.

Will, on the other hand, was uncharacteristically cheerful. While Kurt was moodily picking at his lunch, Will was chattering away about how he was practicing some ghost trick, or conspiratorially telling Kurt that he knew which two teachers were having an affair, and _I could tell you if you want_.

Kurt appreciated Will's attempts to cheer him up, but all he really wanted was to go back to not knowing that Blaine was straight and not feeling like he had created another Finn situation like he had two years before. Most of all, he just wanted his friend back.

"Are you even listening to me right now?"

Kurt looked up from the loose string on his lunch box that he had been playing with. Will was looking at him, exasperated. "Um, yeah. You were saying something about…something," he mumbled. "Okay, no, sorry. I was just thinking."

"About Blaine?"

"No," Kurt said, refusing to meet the accusatory glare Will was sending at him.

"Kurt—"

"Okay, _fine_," Kurt admitted. "Fine, yes, I was thinking about Blaine. I miss him, okay? He was the first good thing to happen to me at this school."

Will's form began to flicker, and he drifted through a stack of library books, forcing Kurt to stand up and move to the next aisle to catch him. He thrust out his hand to grab Will's arm, forgetting until he was gripping air halfway through Will's body that the other boy was insubstantial. He winced at the feeling, like dipping his hand in ice-cold water, and quickly pulled away.

"Will, wait," Kurt said, mentally slapping himself for how inconsiderate he was being. "I didn't mean— you're just as important to me as he is, okay?"

Will whirled around to face him, his eyes blazing. Kurt took a step back instinctively, feeling his back press against hard book cover spines. "You've only known him for two months, Kurt. You've known me for seven. Forgive me for not feeling reassured when you say I'm only _just as _important as him."

Kurt reached out an imploring hand, but quickly dropped it back down to his side when Will began to flicker even more violently, causing the lights in the aisle to dim. "Will—" He hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully, trying to fix this. "I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, okay?"

"I don't understand," Will said, his chest heaving as if his body was trying to remember what it felt to breathe, to be alive, "why you can't just forget about him."

"Because he's my _friend_," Kurt snapped defensively. "I don't understand why you care so much."

"Because I care about you!" Will burst out, his shape solidifying for a moment before continuing to flicker violently.

"I care about you, too, but you're not the only thing in my life anymore, Will. You have to understand that."

"I just want you to need me as much as I need you," Will whispered quietly, fading so quickly that within a second, Kurt could see straight through him to the line of cheesy romance novels behind him.

"I do. I _do_." Kurt shook his head, frustrated. "I do need you, Will. You helped me. You fixed me. But—but I need Blaine, too. Maybe it sounds weird, because I just met him, but he's helped me, too. I need him, and—and maybe he doesn't need me the same way I need him. Maybe he doesn't need me at all." He took a deep breath. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm going to get over my feelings for him, and then, if it's meant to be, we can just be friends. And everything will be okay."

The only indication that Will was still there was the shimmer in the air where Kurt knew he was standing. He thought about Will's words. _I just want you to need me as much as I need you_. Wasn't that a sentiment he was familiar with? Wasn't that exactly what he had been longing for, exactly what he'd been delusional enough to believe that he had found in Blaine?

"I need you, Will."

"But never enough," Will said softly, the words disappearing into silence as quickly as he did.

Kurt waited, but Will didn't come back. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, too tired to care that he had messed up his carefully styled locks with one careless gesture. He wasn't used to this. Need was difficult. It was hard to be needed, and it was hard to need.

He was so very tired of being surrounded by hurt.

* * *

"Kurt, can I talk to you?"

Kurt froze, in the midst of shoving his textbooks in his locker at the end of the day. He had made sure to linger after Glee, waiting until all the members of New Directions had left before he went to his locker. Except he had missed one. _Blaine. _He couldn't talk to Blaine, he couldn't even _look _at Blaine for too long, or the past weeks would be pointless. He couldn't delve back into those gorgeous, melted amber eyes, or he would be lost, in more ways than one.

"Kurt, please."

And really, there was no question about it when Blaine said Kurt's name like that, when his voice broke like he was trying his best to stay composed. There was no question at all. Kurt had been lost from the very beginning.

Kurt turned around slowly. Blaine was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgeting like a tiny bird that would launch into flight if he moved too fast. A sudden, strange urge to protect this boy he hardly knew struck Kurt. Kurt knew that Blaine was capable of protecting himself. He had sneaked glimpses of the corded veins running down Blaine's arms, had seen the dark look that flashed into Blaine's eyes when he caught the end of a derogatory remark aimed at him. He knew Blaine could protect himself, but he also knew that there was something Blaine kept deep inside him—his vulnerability, locked up underneath layers of bravado.

_Kind of like me_, Kurt realized with a start. Who was he to say that he didn't know Blaine? Sometimes it seemed as if there was no difference between understanding himself and understanding Blaine. Sometimes that made things hard.

Like now, when Blaine was just staring at him, his eyes bright, his mouth turned downwards in a tiny frown that Kurt wasn't accustomed to seeing on his face.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked, reaching out to touch Blaine instinctively, then drawing away just as quickly.

Blaine laughed, a staccato note that didn't have any of the mirth he usually burst with. "That's wrong," he said, gesturing to Kurt's arms, hanging limply at his side. "You—you won't even _look _at me, and I just—I don't know what I did _wrong_." Blaine looked as if he wanted to say more, but he bit his lip and looked down, shaking his head.

"Blaine…" How could he explain why he wasn't allowing himself to selfishly have Blaine as a friend? He couldn't. Not if it meant exposing his useless, idiotic feelings. There was nothing he could say.

Blaine looked up, his eyes looking impossibly dark under his lashes. "You know who else doesn't look at me any more?" he asked, his voice quiet, leeched of its previous emotion. "My father."

Kurt stared at him, stricken. Blaine hadn't said much about his family, except that his dad was an accountant and his mother a professor at OU. Kurt had never even been over to his house. Where was this coming from?

"The day I told my dad I was gay, he told me I was wrong. That's it. He hardly even reacted. Just contradicted me and dismissed me. And I went back to my room, and I sat on my bed, and I cried."

"Blaine—" Kurt's mind was whirring with too many thoughts to make sense of them all. He needed Blaine to slow down, to stop, but Blaine was speaking faster now.

"Neither of us spoke about it again. Not once. But ever since then, I noticed that my dad never addressed me personally if he could help it. Never looked me straight in the eye. And it _hurt_." Blaine blinked harshly, then let out a whoosh of air. "And every day, I thought that maybe one day I could make it up to him, maybe if I pretended to be what he needed me to be, if I pretended to be straight, then he would accept me again." Blaine paused, then looked at Kurt. "Then one day, I met you, and it didn't matter anymore."

"I'm sorry," Kurt murmured. He wasn't even sure what he was apologizing for. Blaine's family. Kurt ignoring him. Or maybe even deeper than that, he was apologizing because he wasn't worth Blaine's hurt.

"But you stopped talking to me," Blaine continued, his voice bitter. "You stopped looking at me, too. If you're mad at me for some reason, I'm sorry. If you never want to talk to my again after this, then—then it'll suck, but I can respect that. All I want to know," he said, his gaze meeting Kurt's once again, "is _why_."

"I—" Kurt hesitated. He couldn't lie, not when Blaine was looking at him with injured eyes that _he _had caused. He couldn't cause any more damage. He had to do what he should've done from the beginning. Come clean. "I like you," he said carefully.

Kurt wasn't sure how to proceed; he'd been hoping for some sort of reaction from Blaine, something to work off of. Instead, Blaine said nothing, quietly studying Kurt's face like it was a book he needed to peruse to find answers.

"I thought you were, um… gay," Kurt began.

Blaine blinked, confused. "I am gay."

"No, I know. I mean, I know _now_. But before—" Kurt took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, then started over. "I-I thought you were gay, when we first met. I'm against stereotyping and everything, but I just… I guess I _hoped _you were gay. Then when Wi- when somebody told me you weren't—"

"Who told you I wasn't? I haven't told anybody anything one way or the other."

Kurt avoided Blaine's questioning gaze. It was too hard to evade the truth when he was looking into those eyes. "No one in particular. I just heard this rumor that you had kissed some girl, so I assumed—"

"What?" Blaine looked shocked. "I hardly know any girls here well enough to talk to them, let alone _kiss _them. I didn't—Kurt, I'm _gay_."

"Well, I realize that _now_," Kurt said exasperatedly. "Look, it was just a rumor, and I was stupid enough to believe it and take it too far. I just didn't want you to think I was some kind of—of gay predator."

"Gay predator?" Blaine covered his mouth with his hand, stifling laughter.

Kurt pursed his lips, trying not to smile. "It's not _funny_."

"It's pretty funny." Blaine grinned at him, and Kurt smiled back.

"So…" Blaine started, his smile fading slightly.

"I know," Kurt said quietly. "And I'm sorry that I ruined everything. I understand if you're mad. I just—I get too far inside my head sometimes, and it messes everything up. If you don't want to talk to me anymore—"

"Kurt."

"—I totally understand, and I'm not going to stop you, but I just wanted to let you know that I do care ab—mfph!" Kurt broke off with a squeak, eyes wide as Blaine's lips suddenly connected with his. He slowly closed his eyes, melting into the feeling, his arms lifting and draping around Blaine's neck almost subconsciously. Blaine's hand was on the small of Kurt's back, tugging him forward so he was pressed against Blaine's hips instead of the locker behind him. Blaine's lips were warm and sure against Kurt's, telling him what he didn't allow himself to hear—that Blaine wanted Kurt just as much as he wanted Blaine. _This is happening. _

Blaine drew away first, his lips separating from Kurt's with a wet _smack _that Kurt might have found unpleasant if it weren't so adorable. Blaine leaned his forehead against Kurt's, smiling almost giddily. "We just did that."

"Yes, we did," Kurt breathed, his heart pounding delightfully. Then he remembered where they were, and he pulled away from Blaine abruptly. "We can't do that again."

We—but why?" Blaine pouted, and Kurt tried not to look at the way his bottom lip jutted out, tried not to think about how badly he wanted to lean forward and suck that lip into his mouth until he couldn't remember why they shouldn't.

"Because we're two guys, and this is a school hallway in Ohio." Kurt put his hands on Blaine's chest to push him back a step, but Blaine grabbed his hands, lacing their fingers together.

"There's no one here. Even if there were, I don't care who sees us. If some stupid jocks want to throw around some meaningless words, then we're not going to be any worse off for it," Blaine said firmly. "I'm not going to run anymore."

"Are you sure you're from Westerville, and not just some prince from a fairytale or something?" Kurt muttered, letting their entwined hands fall and swing between them as he shut his locker door.

"If I'm the prince, does that make you the damsel in distress?" Blaine asked, his eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

Kurt snorted. "Keep dreaming."

"Oh, I will be," Blaine murmured, making his voice low and husky.

"How _forward _of you," Kurt said, feigning shock. "What kind of fairytale do you think we're writing?"

Blaine smiled, so deeply that little dimples appeared in the corners of his cheek. "I'm just glad I get to write it with you."

"Who writes your lines?"

"Disney and John Hughes films."

They left the school, caught up in their laughter and the pleasure of companionship. It wasn't until they were in the parking lot, sharing a very un-Disney kiss goodbye, that Kurt felt something was… off. His neck prickled, and he pulled away from Blaine, who grumbled and nuzzled into Kurt's neck.

"Did you…?" Kurt stared back at the school, puzzled. He felt strange, like they were being watched, but theirs were the only two cars left in the parking lot.

"Hm?" Blaine asked, pressing tiny kissed to Kurt's throat that made it particularly hard for him to concentrate.

Kurt looked at the school for a second longer, then returned his attention to Blaine. "Nothing."

He hoped so.


	4. Chapter 4

Blaine worked up the courage to ask Kurt out on a proper date later that week.

Kurt laughed when Blaine explained why he had called. "This isn't _Pride and Prejudice, _Blaine." Blaine could feel himself being judged even across the phone line. "You don't have to court me."

"I'd just feel less—I don't know, nefarious—if I took you on a date before we continued, um…" Blaine waved his hand in the air helplessly, his cheeks warm.

"Sucking face?" Kurt suggested. He sounded as if he was suppressing a laugh.

"Well, _yes_," Blaine muttered, his cheeks warm. "I wanted to do things in the right order, and I kind of already messed that up."

"In that case, maybe you should talk to my dad before we do anything else," Kurt said, his voice thoughtful. "Tell him your intentions with his only son. That sort of thing."

Blaine bit his lip. "Do you think?"

"Blaine, I was kidding."

"Oh." Blaine paused, trying to regain a hold on the conversation. "So… was that a yes to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Of course," Kurt said, his tone suggesting that it was silly that Blaine even had to ask. "But can we go somewhere other than Breadstix? I'd like to have a nice, quiet dinner without being interrupted by half of McKinley."

Blaine agreed, and they made arrangements for Blaine to pick Kurt up the next night at six. They had decided to eat at a little diner that Kurt had liberally praised for its excellent dessert selection. _Kurt loves cheesecake. _Blaine filed the information away in the section of his brain that that dedicated to thoughts about Kurt. It was a section that was growing at an alarming pace.

The next night found Blaine standing outside of the Hummel-Hudson's, jumping from foot to foot nervously as he waited for someone to answer the door. He shouldn't be this nervous. It was Kurt. Just Kurt, with whom he had been friends for months that felt like years. And this was just a date.

The door opened suddenly, and Blaine immediately thrust forward the bouquet of carnations he had brought with him. "These are for you," he said in a rush, looking up from under his eyelashes.

Kurt's father was standing in front of him. _Burt Hummel. Shit. _He looked at Blaine, then down at the flowers, then back up at Blaine again.

"You wanna pretend that didn't happen?" Burt proffered after a moment.

"Yes please," Blaine all but squeaked, lowering his hand quickly.

"They're, uh—really nice," Burt said awkwardly.

"You're welcome," Blaine answered automatically. "I mean, thanks. I mean—"

"He'll love them," Burt interrupted, his eyes gently amused.

Blaine was spared the chance of embarrassing himself further by Kurt's arrival at the top of the stairs. He watched Kurt's descent, watched his long legs moving under impossibly tight jeans, watched the way his arms flexed under the sleeveless vest and tight shirt he wore. He tried not to ogle too much—after all, Burt was standing right next to him—but it was hard not to when Kurt looked so _good_.

They stood, Blaine on the threshold, Kurt next to his father, staring at each other with small smiles on their faces. Burt cleared his throat after a moment and excused himself, murmuring his wishes that they have fun before nudging Kurt outside and shutting the door behind them.

"Hi," Kurt said, his eyes bright.

"Hi," Blaine breathed, taking the liberty of pulling Kurt forward by the loop of his pants and pressing his lips to the corner of Kurt's mouth.

Kurt smiled against his lips. "What happened to doing things properly?" he murmured around a kiss.

"Your outfit happened." Blaine sighed, scooping his free hand around Kurt's waist to pull him even closer, even further into the kiss. _God_, he'd missed this. It had only been a day since he'd last kissed Kurt, but it felt as if it had been centuries since they'd been like this, pressed against each other so close that Blaine could feel Kurt's heartbeat against his chest.

"My dad's right inside," Kurt said, laughing as he tried to pull away. Blaine pouted, moving his lips to Kurt's collarbone. Kurt's breath hitched, and Blaine filed away the information for later reference. He mouthed gently at the pale skin that was exposed above the shirtline, then straightened reluctantly.

"We should probably get going."

Kurt nodded, his cheeks flushed a deep red and his eyes dark with lust despite his previous protestations. "Were you going to give me those flowers?" He pointed to the bouquet that Blaine was clenching in his hands.

"Oh!" Blaine thrust the bouquet out. "Right. Yes. I got these. For you."

"Well, I figured they weren't for my dad." Kurt took the flowers with a wink.

Blaine gaped at him as Kurt brought the bouquet up to his nose and inhaled deeply. "You saw that?"

"Oh yes." Kurt lowered the flowers, grinning evilly. "When I told you to tell my dad your intentions, I didn't think your intentions included seducing _him _as well as me."

"I can't believe you let that happen," Blaine groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"It was waiting to happen, Blaine. Just a matter of waiting it out." Kurt laughed, then hooked his arm around Blaine's. "Come on, I'm starving."

The night went as perfectly as Blaine had hoped it would. Dinner was lovely, and the company was even better. The best part was that nobody batted an eye when they entered holding hands, or when Blaine wiped a bit of cheesecake off the corner of Kurt's mouth, or when Blaine couldn't resist kissing Kurt again in the parking lot before they left. It was a little slice of heaven, a small reprieve from their usual guardedness at school, and Blaine loved it.

Kurt had seemed to enjoy himself, too. Blaine couldn't help but notice that Kurt seemed happier that night than he had ever seen him at school. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of pride that _he_, Blaine Anderson, the disappointment of his family, could make this beautiful boy feel as happy as he deserved to be.

So he was confused when, later that night, Kurt placed a hand on his chest to stop him as he leaned forward to kiss him goodnight.

"What?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Come on, your dad is probably asleep by now. He's not going to be standing next to the window watching us."

"I wouldn't put it past him…" Kurt muttered.

Blaine leaned in again, but Kurt turned his head infinitesimally. It was a small movement, but one that stopped Blaine in his tracks and turned his heart to lead. He slowly straightened up. "What is it?" he asked, careful to keep his voice from shaking. What had he done wrong? Kurt had seemed _more _than willing to kiss him earlier. They'd had a wonderful dinner, had found that they had even more in common than they'd realized in the past few months, could barely keep their hands off each other while they ate. So what was the problem? How could he have screwed things up _already_?

Kurt bit his lip. "It's just…" He stopped, then waved his hand around in the small space between their bodies. "What is this? What are we, exactly?"

"What do you mean?"

Kurt was silent for a moment, and Blaine swore that he could hear their heartbeats somewhere underneath the distant sounds of cars driving on the freeway and crickets chirping their laments. "Are we—what are you getting from this? From us," he clarified, playing with a button on his vest.

"What, now you really _do _want me to state my intentions?" Blaine joked feebly.

"I'm serious, Blaine. I need to know what this is to you, because if it's something different to me, then there's no way it'll work." Kurt looked at him, his eyes blazing with an intensity of emotion that Blaine couldn't precisely place. "Just be honest."

"I'll always be honest with you," Blaine promised. "I—I feel lucky enough that I get _you_ out of this. Between you and me, I'm afraid you got the short end of the stick. You want to know what I'm getting out of this? I'm getting a best friend. And a boyfriend, if you'll have me. I'm getting cheesy dates and a boy who will tell me when my lines are cheesier. I'm getting someone to share things with and someone to care about. I know I sound really cliché right now, but that's how I feel." He shrugged and looked away, feeling the tell-tale heat that signified he was blushing again. Kurt seemed to do that to him a lot.

Kurt didn't respond immediately, so Blaine forced himself to look up. What he saw made him catch his breath. Kurt was staring at him with an unbridled adoration that Blaine had never seen directed at him before.

"Blaine…" Kurt drew in a breath. "I know this is out of nowhere. I just wanted to know whether this was just something to do for fun, because we're the only two openly gay guys at McKinley. I just needed—I needed to know that this was more than just convenient."

Blaine stared at him, a smile growing impossibly wide on his face. He didn't know what was happening. He felt as if he was standing on the precipice of something monumental, teetering on the edge. One more step and he would fall, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing.

"Why are you grinning at me like that?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

"I love you," Blaine said quietly, reveling in the knowledge.

Kurt froze. "What?"

"I love you," Blaine said again, louder this time. He was confident in himself now. He knew what this was, he knew where he was standing. He was in love with Kurt Hummel.

"You—I—we hardly know each other!" Kurt sputtered, his eyes wide.

"Yes, we do," Blaine said, feeling strangely serene now that he had identified what he was feeling. "I know you eat cheesecake with an almost indecent enthusiasm. I know that your favorite Disney movie is The Little Mermaid, but you prefer Belle to Ariel. I know that you nibble on your bottom lip when you're nervous about something, and you hide your mouth behind your hand when you laugh because you're self-conscious about your teeth. I know that you sometimes have nightmares about your mom, but you don't like to talk about them. I know that your best remedy to a bad mood is to sit in your room in our pajamas all day and watch old romcoms. I know that it kills you when my mouth is on your neck, marking the places that you can't see. And _you," _he paused and looked at Kurt, his eyes running over Kurt's body appreciatively, "know exactly what those pants do to me, so come here and kiss me, please."

Kurt obeyed, taking a single step forward. "Thank you," he murmured, tilting his head and looking down at Blaine with a gentle smile that shouldn't have sent Blaine's heart into a flurry as easily as it had. "I needed that."

"I need you," Blaine answered simply.

"I love you," Kurt replied, and he rocked on his heels before surging forward and clashing their mouths together fiercely. "I love you," he gasped between kisses, pressing his lips to Blaine's nose, his forehead, any inch of skin he could reach.

"I love you, I love you," Blaine said back whenever his mouth wasn't other occupied.

He wasn't sure how long they spent on the front porch. Long enough that their frenzied _I love you_'s turned into one long stream and stopped sounding like real words.

It still didn't feel real to Blaine. It didn't feel real when he left Kurt's house only after Burt flashed the porch light on and off a couple times. It didn't feel real when he was in bed that night, trying and failing to fall asleep because he couldn't stop remembering the feeling of loving so much and being loved in return. It still didn't feel real the next day, when he was at school, and he and Kurt were sharing knowing glances during English class.

It doesn't feel real because it all happened so fast. He knew that others probably wouldn't understand what Kurt meant to him, how he was already the best part of Blaine's life. People would think they were moving too fast, attaching themselves to each other to tightly, only for something to rip when they inevitably separated.

But Blaine knew better. He knew that this was more than just some high school romance. He and Kurt had always shared a connection, from that very first day that Kurt had taken his hand in the hallway. When he was with Kurt, the bad things didn't seem nearly so bad. The looks he got in the hallway, his father's cold and silent disapproval at home… none of it mattered now that he had Kurt. Before, he had felt himself slipping away into a shell of himself, living out expectations only. But now, he had a reason to smile. With Kurt, he had nothing to worry about. With Kurt, he had everything.

He could never let that go.


	5. Chapter 5

For once in Kurt's life, everything was perfect. His grades had never been better, he had an incredibly attractive boyfriend who he was head-over-heels for, and he was reconnecting with his friends in Glee club now that he had stopped being jealous of their relationships. It seemed silly, now that he was so happy, to think that he had ever been moody for such silly reasons. Blaine was so optimistic and cheerful all the time that it was hard to imagine a reason to _not _be as joyous as he was to be alive. But he supposed that was life—never knowing what was coming until it had arrived. He was glad that Blaine had been in his stars.

Yes, everything was perfect. So why did he feel so uneasy?

He thought he could pinpoint the beginning of his anxiety to the conversation he'd had with Blaine the week after their first date last month. Kurt had asked Blaine if he'd wanted to get together after school to practice the ridiculous choreography that Mr. Schue had thrown at them that week, and Blaine had agreed. Nothing unusual. It was the comment Blaine had made afterward that had thrown him off. "Just watch out for my two left feet!" Blaine had warned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "I've been tripping over everything lately!"

Kurt had begun to notice it more and more after Blaine mentioned it. He stumbled during easy routines in Glee club, messing up basic moves that normally he could master within minutes.

It happened in the halls, too, when they were walking together. They'd be chatting about something, walking at a slow pace, and out of nowhere, Blaine would lurch to the side, almost running into someone walking past. Once, he had slammed into a locker to his left so hard that Kurt had found bruises on his shoulder later that night. Blaine brushed off Kurt's concern every time it happened—and it had been happening more and more often lately—but after he had laughed and attributed it to being tired or not watching where he was going, Blaine would look behind him when he thought Kurt wasn't watching, a puzzled look on his face. As if he was shoved. But there was no one around to blame. No one they could see, at least.

Kurt didn't want to think about what it could be—or _who _it could be. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but his mind was stuck on the only possibility that made sense.

He'd only seen Will once since he and Blaine had gotten together. It had been right after Glee club when he'd felt that same peculiar sense of being _watched_. He didn't want to draw attention to it, especially not with Blaine sitting right next to him. The last thing he needed was for Blaine to find out that he was seeing a ghost. So he'd waited until after Glee club, when he and Blaine were in the parking lot, before telling Blaine that he'd forgotten something in the choir room and darting back inside. Will was sitting—or floating just above, at least—the chair that Blaine had occupied just minutes ago, as if he had been there the whole time.

Their conversation had been uncomfortable, to say the least.

* * *

"Will!" Kurt wasn't as surprised as his tone let on. He had become better at sensing when Will was around by the telltale tickling at the back of his neck.

"Kurt." Will jerked his head upward in a sharp nod, then stared down at the floor.

Kurt was stung by his cold greeting. Will seemed upset, but he didn't _deserve _to be. Kurt was the one who had been lied to, not Will. _He _was the one who had the right to be angry right now. "Where have you been the past couple weeks?" Kurt asked. He debated sitting down next to Will, but decided against it. He wasn't planning on staying long—just long enough to get some answers.

Will looked up, locking eyes with Kurt's, his frown reaching the icy gray color of his eyes. "I come and go where I'm _needed_," he retorted, stressing the last word and shooting an accusatory glare at Kurt. "So it's really no surprise that you haven't seen me around lately."

There was a pain underneath the anger in Will's voice, and Kurt's first instinct was to do what he did when Blaine was upset—wrap him in his arms and hold him until he forgot about the hurt. But this was Will, not Blaine. He couldn't hold Will, couldn't help Will. He needed to remember that.

"Will." Kurt shook his head and sighed. It was too hard to hold on to his anger. He had thought he was upset with Will, but it was like he didn't have room inside him for stupid things like that anymore. "Why did you lie to me about Blaine?"

Will shrugged. "Honest mistake."

"Come on, Will—"

"I must have mistaken him for someone else," Will insisted, meeting Kurt's gaze obstinately. "There are a lot of scrawny guys around this school. Must have been someone else." He flashed a cold smile. "Oops."

"Blaine isn't scrawny," Kurt defended automatically."

"Been feeling him up, then?" Will smirked. "Figures. He seems like the easy type."

"Shut up," Kurt snapped, feeling something growing inside him that hadn't been there recently. _There it is_. Anger. Will had brought it out in him again, and Kurt hated him for that. He knew Will was just baiting him, trying to get him to forget about his bullshit cover story of mistaking Blaine for someone else, but he couldn't help but rise to the provocation. If he ever had a sore spot, it was people hurting Blaine. "You don't know _anything _about Blaine, or what I have with him. And if you're just going to spend your time lying to me, then maybe we shouldn't be friends until you grow up a bit."

Will looked away, his previous bravado gone. "I don't really have that luxury anymore."

Kurt pursed his lips, his resolve crumbling. "Look," he began, then heaved a tired sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

Will ran his fingers through his hair, the thin locks barely visible with the light shining in through the choir room's windows. "I'm sorry, too," he said sincerely, staring up at Kurt. "I'm just—I'm worried that you're not going to want to be friends with me now that you have—someone else," he said, his mouth tightening slightly.

"Of course I still want to spend time with you, Will. You're still my best friend," Kurt assured him, stepping forward and sitting on the seat next to him.

"You haven't come looking for me lately," Will said, his voice small.

"I know." Kurt wished he could gather Will up in his arms, wished he could show him that he still cared about him. But they both knew that was impossible. "I'm sorry, I've just been really busy with—" He stopped abruptly at the sour expression that had grown on Will's face.

"_Blaine_," Will supplied, his lip curled.

"Well, _yes_." Kurt rubbed his temple, frustrated. "Listen to me. I love Blaine, okay? As long as he's around, you're going to have to deal with sharing me."

Will, to Kurt's surprise, didn't rare up again, but instead adopted a strangely calculating look. "As long as Blaine's around…" he repeated to himself, his voice quiet, like he'd forgotten Kurt was there.

Kurt felt cold suddenly as a chill ran down his back. He didn't know why, but something about Will's expression, his tone... worried him. "Will?"

Will stood up and drifted to the window. "You won't be seeing me around much, then," he said quietly, facing the wall rather than Kurt. "As long as Blaine's around." He flickered, then disappeared through the window.

Kurt sat there frozen for a second, then stood and scrambled over to the window. But when he looked through it, all he saw was a cluster of leaves floating in the wind. A peculiar, rusty smell lingered in the room, one that hadn't been there previously—a smell that Kurt was familiar to Kurt, but not in a good way. He might have been able to place it if he weren't so preoccupied with Will's parting words.

_Blaine_. Blaine was waiting for him in the parking lot. As long as Blaine was around, things would be okay.

* * *

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Kurt blinked, shaking himself out of the memory. Blaine was standing in front of him, a hand reached out to pull him up from his usual seat in the choir room. Kurt was struck by how similar Blaine and Will looked—they had the same unruly hair, though Blaine made efforts to contain his whereas Will let his fly about in a devil-may-care sort of fashion. Their main difference was in their eyes, though. Blaine's were brightly alive in a way that Will's could never be.

"Kurt?" Blaine's smile faltered.

Kurt smiled up at him, grabbing his hand and allowing Blaine to pull him to his feet. "My thoughts are worth at least a quarter," he replied as they left the choir room and began the walk through the hallways to their lockers.

"It's a steep price, but I think I can afford it," Blaine said, fishing a quarter out of his pocket and holding it out.

Kurt forced a laugh. "Rain-check?" He barely registered Blaine nodding beside him. His eyes were focused on the set of lockers down the hall—Blaine's locker, in particular, which had angry red lettering spray-painted across its metal surface.

Next to him, Blaine was squinting down at the row of lockers, too. "What does that—"

Kurt let go of Blaine's hand and sprinted down the hall, leaving Blaine shouting something behind him. He stopped in front of Blaine's locker, where the word "_LEAVE_" had been scrawled sloppily in bright red paint. Kurt gasped, inhaling the suffocating smell of fresh paint and… blood?

That was the smell. He realized now what it was that he had smelled the previous week, when Will had left him in the choir room. _Blood_.

He lifted a trembling hand to the locker and pressed his finger against it, smearing the paint on his finger and bringing it up to his nose. He closed his eyes and cautiously sniffed it, sighing in relief when the only smell that reached his nose was the sharp odor of paint.

He heard the slapping of footsteps slowing down behind him, then felt Blaine next to him, breathing hard. "What was _that _about?"

Kurt stared at the paint, his mind racing. It could've been anyone, really, but there was only one person that it was. _Will_.

"Kurt?" Blaine turned him so he was facing him rather than the lockers. His eyes were full of concern. But not for himself, never for himself. Just for Kurt. "Kurt, are you okay?"

Kurt shook his head mutely. How could it have been Will? Will couldn't even become solid, let alone start picking things like paintbrushes up. Maybe he had spoken to a student and convinced them to do it.

"Kurt, it's okay," Blaine said, still staring into his eyes, not aware of the mental battle he was having. "It's just Azimio and his cronies being stupid. We'll tell the principal, and they'll wash it out. No harm, no foul."

Kurt nodded, letting Blaine interlace their fingers and lead him away and out to the parking lot, then into his car. He didn't speak on the ride home, instead letting Blaine fill up the silence with inane chatter about Katy Perry's newest album. He had other things on his mind.

It couldn't have been Will. Will had been bullied, literally to _death_. Why would he then turn around and bully Blaine? It didn't make sense. Was he a terrible person to even think that about Will? Will, who had been nothing but a friend to him ever since they had met? It couldn't be him.

_As long as Blaine's around… the smell of blood…_

Kurt resolved to keep a closer eye on Blaine.

Just in case.


	6. Chapter 6

They cleaned Blaine's locker the very next day, but it seemed that the paint had left a stain on Kurt's mind. Blaine was worried about him. He was quieter than usual, and jumpy. Blaine tried to make him laugh and engage in their conversations, but Kurt would only chuckle a bit before folding back into himself, his eyes darting around every so often like he was watching for someone to pop up out of nowhere.

Blaine knew what it was about, of course. Kurt had told him about his experiences with bullying, and he had shared his in return. They both knew how it felt to be at the receiving end of blind hatred, and they both knew how quickly things could escalate. But as Blaine had repeatedly told Kurt, he wasn't going to run anymore. That wasn't to say that he was going to do something stupid, like go after the jocks—he just wasn't going to let them bother him. And if they came after him in person, well, so much the better. Blaine hadn't taken up boxing for nothing.

But despite Blaine's reassurances that he could take care of himself, Kurt refused to allow himself to be comforted. It was so _frustrating_, seeing Kurt upset and not being able to calm him down. Since he couldn't alleviate Kurt's fears, he vowed to make sure that Kurt didn't have to worry about him anymore.

And if that meant keeping a couple secrets, then it was worth it. He didn't want Kurt to worry.

It was nothing huge, anyway. It's just… Blaine had noticed things kept going missing. Reports that he knew he had completed would be gone from his backpack the day they were due. When he started keeping homework assignments in his locker to make sure no one could take anything from his locker, they started going missing, too, as did a framed picture of Kurt that Blaine had put up in his locker. He _knew _that he wasn't just misplacing things, so he couldn't even put it off to a bad memory on his part. No, someone was taking his stuff. The question was, _Who? _Why did someone want him out of McKinley so badly? What had he done to upset someone this badly? It couldn't just be him being gay, could it? He had tried so hard to fly under the radar; Kurt wouldn't even let him hold his hand if there were people around. So who was coming after him?

The answers to Blaine's questions landed in his locker a week after the paint incident. After Glee club that day, Kurt had gone straight home for Family Game Night. He'd been invited, but Blaine still felt slightly intimated and incredibly embarrassed in Burt's presence, so he'd politely declined. So, he and Kurt had parted ways that afternoon, Kurt heading for his car and Blaine heading for his locker to grab his French book so he could study that night for their finals.

But when he'd grabbed his book, a single sheet of notebook paper had slid out with it, fluttering in the air for a second before Blaine caught it in his fist. He shoved his book in his bag, then slowly unfolded the paper, his fingers shaking in trepidation. The paper only had three words on it, written in the same blood-red scribble that had been used on his locker.

_NORTH HALL STAIRCASE._

Blaine turned it over, looking to see if there were any more details on the other side. A name, perhaps, or an ominous message telling him to come alone or else he'd be in trouble. But no, the movies had gotten it wrong once again. Just three words—not even a command, or an instruction, or even a suggestion. Just the three words.

It was as if whoever wrote the note knew that he could bring himself to ignore a challenge, could even convince himself to stay away from a fight if he justified it as sensibility rather than running away… but he could not resist a mystery.

He made the decision in a second. He had to find out who was breaking into his lockers and taking his things, who was targeting him. And some part of him had a feeling that whoever was behind the note was a part of something bigger—namely, Kurt's behavior lately. If there was any way this was connected to Kurt, could possibly start happening _to _Kurt, then he had to find out who was behind it and stop them.

Which is how he found himself standing at the top of the North Hall Staircase five minutes later, looking around curiously with the crumpled note in his fist.

Blaine wasn't entirely sure what happened next.

He could tell you what he didn't see. He didn't see anyone in that hallway. He didn't see anything he could trip over. He didn't see a single living person around who could have shoved him down those steps, either.

Blaine could tell you what he felt—an pair of hands pressed firmly against his back, the fingers digging into his skin for just a second as they applied the pressure strong enough to send him flying down the stairs, to land at the bottom in a crumpled and unnatural heap.

But Blaine could not tell anyone what he saw just before he fell. He couldn't tell anyone, not even Kurt, about what he had seen in the reflection of a trophy display window to his right. He couldn't tell anyone about the blurry outline of a person he had seen, standing right behind him. A shadow. The shadow of a shadow, really.

No, he couldn't tell anyone about that at all.

* * *

"The doctors said I was lucky I landed the way I did, or I might have ended up with a break instead of just a sprain," Blaine said, trying to keep his voice cheerful as he talked to Kurt the next day in the hallway. He hadn't gone to school that day because he had been at the hospital with his mother, but he had convinced her to take him to school after Glee club so he could see Kurt.

"Yes, tumbling down a flight of stairs and nearly cracking your head open is really _lucky_," Kurt said, his voice tight.

Blaine shrugged uncomfortably. "It was just a few stitches," he muttered. "Not that big a deal."

"Blaine, tripping over your own two feet and hitting a locker isn't a big deal. Falling down a set of stairs and needing stitches and crutches, however, definitely falls under that category." Kurt sighed, his eyes narrowed in frustration. It seemed as if he were _angry_ for some reason, but Blaine wasn't sure who could possibly be the target. He hadn't told Kurt the truth about what had happened the day before. He knew Kurt would think he had hit his head even harder than the doctors thought if he started talking about seeing and feeling people that weren't actually there.

To be honest, he wasn't sure what was happening. He was trying not to think about it too much, but it was clear that _something _was going on. Blaine wasn't the sort to believe in ghosts, but—

_No. _No, he wasn't going to go there. He was just tired, and trying to find a target to pin his mistakes on. When he'd needed a psychiatrist after the Sadie Hawkins dance, they'd practiced redirecting his anger into constructive actions. He needed to do that now, with his suspicions and paranoia. There was no use wasting his time trying to blame things that didn't exist. It had been an accident. Just an accident.

"Blaine?"

"Sorry," he apologized, smiling at Kurt. "Spaced out for a second."

"Right." Kurt wasn't smiling back, but was instead staring at a point over Blaine's shoulder. Blaine turned his head, but two hours after school left the hallways empty. He turned back, and suddenly, Kurt was staring at him. "I think you should go home," he said firmly, placing his hands on Blaine's shoulder and nudging him toward the entrance to the school, making Blaine hop ridiculously to avoid using his injured foot.

"Kurt, what— I just got here!" Blaine protested.

"And I'm sure you're tired after your ordeal," Kurt said, nodding rapidly. "You need rest."

"I didn't have a surgery. I think I'm okay. I thought we could hang out?"

"Well—" Kurt hesitated, then reared back up again. "I can't, I have to go straight home. Dad's orders, sorry. He thinks I'm not spending enough time with him, and I'm graduating this year, so, you know…"

"I'll walk you out, then," Blaine said, glancing at Kurt uncertainly. He was acting strange. He'd been moody all week, but now he was being disarmingly manic. Blaine was slightly afraid to leave him alone right now.

"You can't," Kurt said immediately. "I have to go talk to… Mrs. Pierrot about an essay of mine. She only gave me a B and I know I deserved an A. I mean, you know, it's not a _huge _deal, my French grade is fine, but with finals coming up and everything, I figured I'd rather be safe than sorry, you know?" Kurt babbled.

"Right," Blaine said slowly. "I'll just go, then."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow." Kurt leaned in and gave Blaine a short peck on the lips. "Be careful, okay?"

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I'll avoid all staircases between the ground floor and my car."

Blaine turned and hobbled toward the door, his movement stilting because of the stupid crutch the doctors had forced him to use. He exited the school and walked a couple steps in the direction of the parking lot, then stopped and turned around.

There was something Kurt wasn't telling him. His boyfriend was somehow wrapped up right in the middle of this mess, and if Kurt wasn't going to tell him what was going on, then Blaine was going to find out himself.

It took shorter than Blaine expected to find Kurt. He just had to follow the sound of hushed but high-pitched words that floated down the hallway from the choir room. What Blaine saw when he looked into the choir room from outside the door confused him. Kurt was standing with his back to the door, staring up near the window. The weird part was that Kurt was talking. Out loud. To thin air.

Blaine couldn't hear what was being said through the closed door, so he carefully leaned his crutch against the wall so he could free his hands. Then he slowly turned the knob of the door, praying it wouldn't creak as he opened the door a crack. But Kurt was in the middle of a sentence, so if there was a noise, he must not have heard it. Blaine opened the door just in time to hear the end of a sentence.

"—almost _killed _him!" Kurt hissed.

Blaine blinked. Killed who? Who was Kurt even talking to?

"No, just—just stop. I know you're lying. I want you to stay away from Blaine."

Kurt had officially negated the chance of Blaine accepting this as just talking to himself. Kurt was talking to someone… someone who Blaine couldn't see. Telling this someone to stay away from Blaine.

Well. This changed things.

"Clearly," Kurt said, his voice ice-cold. "Yes. Stay away from me, too."

Kurt spun on his feel, then froze when he saw Blaine standing just outside the door. Instead of immediately explaining himself, he shut his eyes tight, then opened them and rapidly walked out of the room, grabbing Blaine's free arm and tossing his crutch to the other, pausing only long enough for Blaine to position the crutch underneath his arm before pulling him along down the hallway.

"_What _is going on?" Blaine demanded as they speed-walked through the halls.

"Nothing," Kurt answered, his voice high-pitched and falsely cheery. "I was practicing for a scene. You never know when you'll need to be ready for some quick scene-work in an audition. They say to work from what you know, so I pretended you were a character in my scene and somebody was coming between us."

Blaine stared at him. "That was—"

"Yeah, I know, I know." Kurt laughed, but it was too different from Kurt's normal laugh for Blaine to buy it. "It needs work, but you know, that's why I was practicing. Practice makes perfect, after all!"

"Just stop." Blaine turned his hand inside of Kurt's and tugged him to a stop just outside the doors that led outside. "Let's just—can we stop and talk about this?"

Kurt hesitated, looking as if he were torn between wanting to run away and wanting to collapse on the ground. "If I thought telling you would make things better, then I would," he finally said.

"Lies don't help, either, Kurt." Blaine shook his head, trying not to let himself get frustrated. "I know something's going on, okay?"

"Blaine—"

"I saw it, too!" Blaine burst out.

Kurt stared at him. The words seemed to hang in the air between them, until they created a bridge that he could tell Kurt was about to cross.

Then:

"His name is Will."


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt was happy.

Of course, the last time he had been happy, the world had responded by taking the source of his happiness and tossing it down a flight of stairs.

But, all things considered, he was cautiously content.

After Kurt had insisted on telling Blaine the rest of the story at home, it had taken at least another hour before he and Blaine could connect their stories into one understandable line. Well, Blaine's story had been simple enough, and easier for Kurt to understand since he had known Will for so long. They'd realized that, for whatever reason, Blaine could only see Will in reflections—like the glass of the trophy display right before he had , understandably, had been very… _unenthusiastic_… about the idea of a jealous ghost roaming around, but the evidence was hard to ignore. Or rather, the _lack _of evidence.

What worried Kurt was that he still had no idea what Will was planning. He knew why, but not what, when, where, and most importantly, _how_. How had he managed to become solid enough to push Blaine when just moving made him flicker between being here and being transparent? How had he been able to unlock Blaine's locker, or pick up a paint brush and can? Will had obviously been untruthful in more ways than one, but it made Kurt wonder what else he had lied about.

For now, he was trying to think past that. He was just happy that he and Blaine were stronger than ever now that the truth was out in the open. Anyway, he hadn't seen Will in weeks. Maybe he had taken Kurt's warning to leave he and Blaine alone to heart. For now, Kurt was focusing on school and Blaine and Glee club.

_Like I would be if I had never met Will_.

He shook his head. He wasn't going to think about Will anymore. He was going to think about how nice it was that he and Blaine could snuggle with their feet tangled up on the bed without worrying about Blaine's injury now that it had healed. He was going to think about the shopping trip he had planned with Mercedes and Tina for the following weekend, to buy their outfits for prom. He was going to think about—

"Love songs!" Blaine repeated after the rest of the Glee club had filed out, leaving them alone in the choir room. He clapped his hands, literally bouncing in his seat. "This is going to be great."

"Great?" Kurt groaned. "This is going to be yet another cliché and overused lesson from Mr. Schue." He paused. "Although I have to say it's better than the last time when we got our partners at random. At least I get to sing with you."

"Always the optimist."

"I try." They smiled at each other, then Kurt whipped out his iPod from his tote. "Come on, let's pick a song. Maybe if we get some practice time in today, we can have tomorrow evening to ourselves."

"Does that mean cuddles?" Blaine asked, tilting his head and looking at Kurt with a hopeful expression.

"That means cuddles," Kurt confirmed. "You know I can't resist cuddling when it's cold and rainy outside."

* * *

An hour later and they had gotten nowhere with their song selection. Blaine had banished Kurt to the piano bench facing the wall while he did something inexplicable near the window. Kurt was lazily tapping out nursery songs on the keys since Blaine had flapped his arms and squawked at him when he had turned around to see what Blaine was doing.

"L is for the way you look at me," Blaine sang under his breath. Kurt smiled a little to himself.

"Can I turn around yet?"

"One more second," Blaine promised. "I'm almost finished with my masterpiece."

Kurt rolled his eyes and continued tinkling with the piano. A couple seconds later, Blaine called out that he could turn around.

He swung his legs over to the other side of the bench and looked toward the window. Blaine was standing on a chair beside the window, where he had traced a heart with his finger against the cold glass. Inside, he had written "Kurt + Blaine."

"Ta-da!" Blaine announced, wiggling his fingers in front of the window. He turned towards Kurt, beaming. Kurt couldn't help but laugh out loud at Blaine's puppy exuberance. Sometimes he was struck by just how lucky he was to have him. Even after all this time, Blaine still took his breath away.

"Do you like it?" Blaine asked, looking at his creation as proudly as if it were his own child.

"I love it," Kurt answered, unfolding his legs and standing up from the piano bench to walk over to the seats under the window. He reached up and grabbed Blaine's tie, tugging it until Blaine had leaned over. "I love _you_." He stood on his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to Blaine's lips, but Blaine had other ideas. He followed Kurt down from the chair and nudged him to sit, then tumbled into his lap, their lips miraculously still connected. Kurt laughed inside the kiss, feeling warm and blissful. He loved moments like these—just he and Blaine, still so excited about the new things they had discovered about each other and the moments that were yet to come.

Kurt pulled away to dig in his pockets. It was hard maneuvering around Blaine, who always got clingy when they kissed and was never the one to stop. Finally, he managed to pull out his cell phone.

"Is this—the time—for texting?" Blaine demanded, sucking at the hollow of Kurt's neck.

"It's definitely not the place for a heavy makeout session," Kurt said drily. He lifted his phone and waved it in front of Blaine's face. "Do you ever feel like… like we're passing so many moments and we never realize until they're gone?"

Blaine blinked. "We're young. I don't think we really need to worry about that yet."

"You never know when life is going to force you to worry about that," Kurt murmured. "No, but I just mean… I want to remember everything. I want to remember the way this felt right now, how it's cold outside but I'm warm when your arms are around me, how badly I want to keep kissing you and never have to stop, how incredibly," he stopped to kiss Blaine's forehead, "_dorky _you are, and how much I love it."

Blaine smiled, his eyes softening from the sharp _want _that had been in them before. "I want to remember everything."

Kurt smiled back, then went to the camera on his phone. He held it up, making sure both he and Blaine were being captured by the screen, then leaned forward to kiss Blaine on the cheek.

But Blaine jerked back, nearly causing the phone to go flying out of his hand. Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand, peering in at the phone's screen.

Kurt stared at him. "What?"

Blaine's eyes were wide, but he just shook his head. "Nothing. I thought I— nevermind. Sorry." He let go, then leaned against Kurt, gesturing for him to take the picture. Kurt raised the phone again, centering them, and snapped a picture. Blaine leaned into Kurt even more to look at the screen, then froze.

"Kurt," he said quietly, still staring down at the phone.

Kurt glanced at Blaine questioningly, then down at the phone. The picture was a cute one, but a bit blurry. Kurt had taken it right at the moment that his lips had touched Blaine's cheek. Blaine was smiling, though a little distractedly.

"What's wrong?"

They both jumped as a loud screeching noise, like manicured nails against a whiteboard, filled the room. Blaine jumped to his feet and pointed to the window.

The heart he had drawn was still there, but foggy tendrils were radiating from it like cracks. There was another loud screech, and then, slowly, a thin line appeared through Blaine's name. Then another, and another, and another, more and more rapidly, until Blaine's name was entirely covered by the thin gashes.

"Kurt, let's go," Blaine said urgently, reaching forward and grabbing Kurt's arm. Kurt nodded and stood up, but as soon as Blaine had touched Kurt's arm, even louder screeches began to emanate from the window and "_KURT KURT KURT" _appeared on the wall. Once, twice, five times, then ten—the words were being scratched into the window at an alarming pace, overlapping each other once the first layer was covered.

Kurt looked away from the window when he felt Blaine tugging on his arm, but when he turned to leave, Blaine just grabbed his cell phone. "What are you doing?"

Blaine didn't answer, but continued to fiddle with Kurt's phone. Kurt watched him, baffled when Blaine turned his back and held the phone out in front of him like he was trying to see—

_A reflection, _Kurt realized. He was trying to see Will, trying to be on an even footing with Kurt. He couldn't imagine what this was like with Blaine—dealing with something that he couldn't really see but who could see him perfectly fine. But Will wasn't here yet. They had to leave. "Blaine, forget it," he said, reaching out for Blaine's hand.

"Yes, forget it, Blaine. I'll make things easier for you," a sneering voice said from right behind Kurt. Blaine gasped and dropped the phone, whirling around and grabbing Kurt so he was standing behind and to the right of Blaine.

"Stay away from us!" Blaine shouted, clenching so hard onto Kurt's arm that Kurt thought it might fall off.

Will was standing just below the window, under a bed of _"KURT KURT KURT KURT" _and the now-illegible heart with he and Blaine's name in it. He looked… different, somehow. Clearer, maybe. The color in his eyes was closer to a vibrant green than its usual milky gray. And there was something else—he was leaning. Against the wall. But not what he usually did, not just leaning _near _the wall so that it seemed as if he were touching it; he was actually leaning against the wall, with no apparent chance of him sinking through it.

Will pushed himself off the wall with a smirk, taking a few steps toward them. Blaine backed up. "Stay where you are!" he warned, pointing a finger directly at Will.

Kurt stared at him. "You can see him?"

Blaine nodded, but kept his eyes trained on Will. "Crystal clear," he said shortly. "Let's leave."

"So soon?" Will pouted. "We haven't even gotten to the fun part yet."

"And we're not going to," Blaine retorted. "Come on, Kurt." Blaine pulled him to his side, then strode toward the door, only to come to an abrupt stop when Will disappeared and reappeared right in front of them.

"Oh, I don't think so," Will said lightly. "You see, I'm feeling so _alive _today. It would be a shame to waste my good mood. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to, at least." He winked at Blaine, then took a deliberate step forward and reached out to flick one of Blaine's errant curls. Blaine flinched and stumbled backward. "He's pretty, Kurt, I'll give you that."

"Don't _touch _him," Kurt snapped.

"My, you two are testy today." Will ambled over to the chairs, leaving their way to the door clear. "Why don't you sit down?" he asked, taking a seat under the window and gesturing to the chairs next to him. "Makes yourself comfortable."

Blaine glanced at him, then over at Kurt, but Kurt didn't want to chance their luck. He had a feeling that Will had thought this all out very, very carefully. He had a feeling they wouldn't be able to just walk out anytime soon.

"We'll stand, thanks," he answered tightly. He looked around helplessly, trying to figure out what Will's intentions were. But the ghost looked completely at ease, sprawled out in the chair like he didn't have a care in the world. Kurt had to distract him, keep him talking until he could figure out what his motives were. "You're solid," he blurted out. "How are you doing that?"

Will perked up at Kurt's question. It almost felt like it used to between them, when Will would become so proud and cheerful at Kurt's interest in his spiritual prowess. There was something more sinister about him now, though, something that had been under the surface the whole time without Kurt realizing. "Practice makes perfect," he said, looking smug.

"So you've been able to do this the whole time and you never bothered to tell me?" Kurt demanded, trying and failing to keep the offended tone out of his voice. He tried to remind himself that Will wasn't just another friend who had kept a secret from him—Will was dangerous now, and he had to treat him that way.

"I just learned how to recently."

"Really?" Kurt asked scathingly. "And why did you never _learn how to _before?" Kurt felt a pressure on his hand as Blaine squeezed it just slightly, probably to tell him to soften his tone.

Will stared at Kurt, then looked down, all of his bluster disappearing under a bashful exterior. "I never had a reason to before."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "And you do now?"

Will opened his mouth, then glanced at Blaine. "Does he have to be here for this?"

Kurt looked at Blaine, who was staring so intently at Will that Kurt got the impression he was afraid the ghost would disappear if he looked away. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Blaine."

"I—" Will bit his lip, then sighed and ran his hand through his hair. It was such a _human _trait that it startled Kurt. Often, it seemed as if Will were playing an elaborate game of pretend, just going through the motions of the human behavior that he remembered from his time. It was rare for Kurt to see him so vulnerable. At times like these, it was easy to see through the veneer and into the person that Will could have been when he was alive. Just a scared kid, trying to find his way in the world just like anyone else.

_A scared kid who's now trying to scare me and Blaine_, Kurt reminded himself. It was far too easy to fall back on pitying Will.

"It—it hurts my head to stay solid like this," Will admitted. "I've never been able to do this before. I don't think I should be able to now. We—I wasn't made to be able to talk to people like this, to let them see me. I don't think it's… allowed, exactly."

"What are you saying?" Kurt asked slowly. "Then why can I see you?"

"Because I let you." Will shrugged. "You don't have any sort of—of special skill, or anything. I saw you that day in the choir room, and then I let you see me. I was lonely, Kurt." He looked up at Kurt imploringly. "You have to understand how lonely it is, Kurt, when you're stuck wandering the same halls, never speaking to anyone, left to look on at everyone being so _happy _and knowing you can't join in…"

But Kurt _did _understand. It was exactly how he had felt before he had met Will. Before he had met Blaine, and realized that the same happiness his friends were privy to could be his, too, if he just allowed himself to look for it.

"If I had known I was going to be stuck here—" Will stopped.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"Then he wouldn't have killed himself," Blaine supplied, his voice soft. He shrugged when both Will and Kurt turned their gazes on him. "I did some research. You weren't killed by bullies like you said, were you, Will? Or at least, not directly."

Will looked down at his lap and fidgeted with his fingers, turning them over in each hand one after the other. "It hurts to stay solid, Kurt," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I'm doing it anyway. For you. Because I care about you. A lot."

Kurt scoffed, the sound bursting out of his mouth so loud and full of contempt that it surprised even him. "If you cared about me so much, you'd understand how important Blaine is to me, and you would leave him alone! You _hurt _him, Will! With your words, and with your actions. And by hurting him, you hurt me. So don't you dare say you care about me, because this time, words aren't enough to do a thing about it."

Will shot out of his chair, so quickly that Kurt didn't even see the movement between him sitting and him yelling in his face. "Blaine doesn't deserve you!"

"Right, and who is? You?" Kurt replied disdainfully.

"Blaine—" Will froze mid-retort. "Blaine doesn't understand you like I do," he stammered, his voice losing its heat.

"Will—" Kurt started, but Blaine tensed next to him.

"You're _dead_!" Blaine shouted, his eyes bright like they got just before he cried. Kurt squeezed his hand. Blaine squeezed back, but he didn't back down. "How could you understand what it's like—what life's like—what we even have here? How could you show up and _ruin_ everything like this?" Blaine's fell silent.

"How could _you_?" Will shot back. "_I _didn't show up and ruin anything—you did. I've been here the whole time. I've been alone all this time. You wouldn't know the first thing about that, would you? Loneliness. Look at you. Handsome, charming. People probably fall all over themselves trying to please you, trying to make you _like _them. I never had that. Kurt never had that. You don't understand a thing about either of us."

Kurt stared at the two of them, his eyes wide. This had taken an unexpected turn. This had always been about Will and Kurt, with Blaine caught in the cross-fire. Now, all of a sudden, Kurt had been shunted to the side, like some prize to fight over. He didn't understand.

Blaine took a step forward, leaving Kurt to stand behind him. "I don't know what it's like to be alone? Maybe not truly, physically alone. But mentally? Yes. I know what it's like to try so hard to please someone—so hard to be enough of a decent human being to hope that somebody might _actually care _just once—" His voice broke, and he stopped to take a deep breath before continuing. "You're shown, again and again, that it's pointless. Because that person you're trying so hard to impress… he'll never care." He stopped again, his expression dark, and looked down for a second. Kurt longed to touch him, to draw him in and hold him, but he sensed that this was something Blaine needed to say. "And—and I know how you feel, around Kurt."

Kurt stiffened. How _did _Will feel? He hadn't really thought about it before. Friendship, he had thought, albeit an intense one. But was it possible there was something more?

"I know how it feels when he comes into your life. Like maybe it's been raining for awhile, and then he shows up, holding an umbrella, letting you know that the bad stuff won't just disappear, but he can help it go away for awhile. I _know," _Blaine said, his voice dripping with sincerity. "Once you have that little bit of reprieve, you don't want to let it go. But you have to let it go." He fixed an intense gaze on Will. "You're dead. Kurt's alive. That's all you need to know to hear the end of that story."

Will held Blaine's gaze unflinchingly, his eyes cold. The lights in the choir room flickered, but Blaine didn't back down.

"I could kill you," Will said suddenly, his tone idle. "I could do it."

Kurt took a step forward and hooked his arm in Blaine's. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," Will agreed. "Because it would hurt you."

"How noble of you."

"He's right, though," Will mused.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. It wasn't like Will to give up so easily.

"I still don't… I don't completely understand how this could work. But I know it could. Your—your mother told me it could."

Kurt shook his head, bewildered. "My… mother?"

"I spoke to her once, you know," Will said softly, his voice strangely compelling. "Just to let her know you were okay. She's been watching over you."

"S-she has?" Kurt asked, hating the tremble in his voice, hating how vulnerable he sounded.

"She told me to tell you she loves you, and she's proud of you."

"Why didn't you tell him before?" Blaine asked, his voice hard.

Will ignored him, and so did Kurt. All he cared about was his mom. He would take any news he could glean, no matter how unpleasant the source.

"She told me to tell you thatyYou have to follow your heart to be happy." Will paused, letting the message sink in. "I could show you, if you'd like. Just for a little bit. You can come see her, Kurt." His voice got louder, more urgent. "You can stay as long as you'd like. I won't make you leave. I can show you _my _world, show you what it's like for me. There are so many colors, Kurt, colors like you'd never believe. Your mom loves them."

Kurt took a step forward, unbidden. It was strange… he thought he could smell the faintest hint of his mother's perfume, a smell that only faintly permeated the dresser in her room. Will held out his hand, palm up. "Take my hand, Kurt."

Kurt took another step forward, releasing his grip on Blaine's arm. He could do it. He could see, just for a little bit. He hadn't seen his mom in so long…

"You're lying."

Kurt could hear Blaine speaking, but it was like the sound of someone talking in another room. He could make out the words, but not quite the meaning behind them.

Will glared at Blaine. "Shut up. You don't know a thing."

Kurt closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, breathing in his mother's perfume. He could still remember how it felt to be in her embrace, to feel her soft hand pushing his hair off of his forehead.

"He's _lying_, Kurt, look at him—he's lying, he's just trying to manipulate you!"

Kurt opened his eyes, confused. Blaine sounded so upset. Why was he so upset? Kurt was going to see his mom again.

"Don't listen to him," Will whispered, his eyes locked onto Kurt's. "Just take my hand."

Kurt's hand twitched. He started to raise his hand—

"_Kurt_."

Blaine had grabbed a hold of his hand. He held it tightly, raising it up and holding it to Kurt's heart.

"Kurt, listen to me—this is you. This is us. _This is real_. You belong here. Right here, you and me. Just hold my hand, Kurt."

Kurt blinked, slowly feeling the warmth of Blaine's hand in his. When he took a breath, he couldn't smell his mom's perfume anymore. Just the smell of Will that he remembered, the smell of Autumn leaves and pencil shavings. He turned away from Will, stepping backward until his back was pressed against Blaine. His heart was racing, his pulse tingling as if he had taken something. _What just happened?_

"Why can't you just leave us alone?" Blaine was yelling. "Why can't you understand that we're happy?"

Will looked at Kurt, and Kurt could imagine that he saw all the years that Will had been alone reflected in those eyes. "I come and go where I'm needed."

Kurt knew what that was. Not a statement, but a question. A plea. He hesitated, then shook his head. "No."

Will nodded slowly, and all of a sudden, the world exploded.

Kurt felt his Blaine fly away from him as the windows in the choir room shattered. Kurt fell to his knees, a force stronger than he'd ever thought possible forcing him to the ground. His eyes watered at the whoosh of air that buffeted the room, and he closed them on instinct.

Just as suddenly, the force pressing him to the ground let up, and the wind disappeared. He opened his eyes cautiously, lifting his head from the ground just enough to peer around the room and see that Will was gone.

Something warm and sticky dripped onto Kurt's hand. Blood. He was a little surprised to see it there, but as soon as he noticed it, the pain centered itself on his cheek, demanding to be accounted for. He pressed his hand to his cheek, bringing away more blood. The choir room was sparkling under a bed of shards.

"Oh _god_." The words tore out of his chest with a sob.

Kurt stiffened as he felt arms surrounding his body, holding him tightly as Blaine always did to remind him that he was there to protect him. He sighed and leaned into the embrace. "Blaine… it's over, I think."

_No_. There was something wrong. This wasn't Blaine. The embrace was too cold, too hard. It didn't smell like hazelnut coffee creamer and Blaine's hair gel. It smelled like leaves and wind and _other_. Kurt twisted around frantically in the arms that held him.

Will. "Let go of me," Kurt demanded, his voice sounding braver than he felt. His eyes strayed to the ground behind Will, where Blaine was crumpled. He wasn't moving. _God, no, please, no._

Will caressed his cheek, wiping the blood from his face, then released him. Kurt scrambled backward, hissing when his hands came into contact with more glass. The pain didn't matter. Getting to Blaine mattered. _Blaine…_

"I never wanted to hurt you," Will said morosely.

Kurt stood slowly, waiting for Will to try to stop him, but the other boy sat on the ground, staring up at Kurt with something like regret on his face. He rushed past him to Blaine, turning his face from the ground and leaning his ear against Blaine's chest.

"He's alive," Will said to the room at large, but Kurt ignored him. It wouldn't have been the first time that Will had lied to him. He kept his head on Blaine's chest, trying to calm down so he could hear a heartbeat under his own heaving breaths. _There. _It was there, loud and strong. Blaine was okay. Kurt slumped over, relief stealing his breath. Blaine was okay. He could deal with his other priorities now.

He turned to see Will staring at him. "Leave." He only trusted himself with short sentences; otherwise, another sob might slip out. He had to be brave now, for Blaine.

"You're scared of me," Will noted, his eyes still impossibly sad.

Kurt didn't trust him, _couldn't _trust him. "Leave."

"I'll have to, soon. I only have a couple minutes left, at most."

Something about the way he says it makes Kurt keep talking. "And then what?"

Will just looked at him, and Kurt knew. There wouldn't be a _then _after that. This had been a last-ditch effort.

"We could make things work, Kurt," Will said desperately.

"Will—"

"I'm not unappealing to you! I saw how you used to admire me before _he _showed up." Will stood up, his eyes wet.

Kurt hadn't known ghosts could cry. _Ignore it. _"It can't work."

Will approached him, his form flickering violently as he walked. "Come with me."

"I _can't_. Do you expect me to abandon my family? Blaine?"

Will's mouth trembled. "I need you," he whispered brokenly. "I _love _you."

Kurt shook his head. "Loving someone doesn't mean just wanting to be with them. It means wanting the best for them, even if that doesn't include you." He paused, his tone softening. "You needed someone to pay attention. I know how that feels. You wanted to be noticed. To be cared about. To feel like you matter. You _do_ matter. You made me better. You helped me. You made me happy, and you listened to me. You made me feel wanted for the first time."

Will was quiet, staring at him, his form still wavering.

"But you don't need me, Will," Kurt continued. "Blaine needs me. Blaine is here, Blaine is solid all the time," Kurt says, reaching a finger out to brush away a tear, but Will's skin doesn't feel as solid anymore and his finger doesn't come away wet. "And as much as I needed you… I need Blaine more."

"I'm fading already," he murmured. Kurt could see him becoming more and more transparent, his form looking weaker and weaker. His eyes were lighter now than Kurt had ever seen them before.

Will opened his mouth for the last time, his lips pursing around a word, but he disappeared before it could reach Kurt.

"K-kurt?"

Kurt spun around, dropping to the ground immediately as Blaine stirred and rubbed his head. "Are you okay?"

Blaine nodded groggily. "Where's—where's Will?" he mumbled.

"I think he's gone… for good," Kurt answered. He felt a pang in his chest at the realization. He wished it hadn't ended that way. He wished Will could have realized how important he was to Kurt, how much Kurt wished they had met at a different time. They could have been friends.

Blaine stiffened suddenly in Kurt's arms, his eyes losing focus.

"Blaine?" Kurt shook him, alarmed, until Blaine relaxed, his eyes losing their distance.

"Kurt."

"Are you okay?"

Blaine nodded. "I feel—" he broke off, swallowing deeply. There was something wrong with his voice. Kurt stared at him, his heart thumping.

"What, Blaine? Tell me what's wrong!"

"I—feel—strange," Blaine ground out, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead.

Kurt froze. He recognized something under Blaine's voice, something that should not be there.

"I don't want to leave," Blaine said, turning his head up to look at Kurt. But it was both Blaine and _not _Blaine. Blaine was present—Kurt could see it in the fear in his eyes, the tremor in his voice—but part of that fear belonged to someone else. _Will_.

"I don't want to be alone anymore." Blaine seemed to be struggling with his words, maybe because Will was getting weak, or because he was unused to speaking with another body's mouth.

"You won't be," Kurt said, trying not to sound as terrified as he felt. He took Blaine's hand in his, holding it up to his heart. "You won't be. I'm here."

"Hold me," Blaine and Will begged, and Kurt could do nothing but oblige when they spoke to him so desperately. He tugged Blaine forward, wrapping his arms around both Blaine and Will.

"What's happening?" They sounded terrified. Kurt could hear the low timbre of Blaine's voice floating in and out of the words, trading places with Will's higher pitch in a strange dance of sorts. "K-Kurt… I'm so… cold."

Kurt couldn't tell one from the other, couldn't feel where one stopped and the other began. He just held on tighter. "Shh, shh. I'm here," he babbled, adopting the same senselessly placating voice he would use on a stray cat. "I'm here, it's okay. Let go. Just let go. You can let go."

"I'm scared," Will and Blaine gasped.

"I—I know," Kurt said, letting go and leaning back so he could look them in the eye. "But you have to let go. Do you understand? You have to."

"I love you."

Kurt leaned forward and took away the pain the best way he knew how. He kissed them, hard enough to make his lips sting, and it was the taste of Blaine's chap stick and that same foreign sense of _other _at the same time, like he's kissing both of them at the same time. He kissed them fiercely, not even stopping for breath. He kissed them hard enough for the both of them. He kissed them so long that the coldness disappears, and when he finally pulls back, he knows that it's not _them _anymore, but _him_. Blaine.

"What—what just happened?" Blaine asked, reaching his hand up languidly to press his fingers to Kurt's cheek. He had forgotten about his wound, but it seemed to have stopped bleeding.

"What do you remember?" Kurt asked softly, his voice rough and shaky.

"I—I'm not sure," Blaine hedged. "Can we talk about it at home? I'm so cold."

Kurt studied him, but it was definitely Blaine under those eyes. He nodded, then stood, gently pulling Blaine up with him. "Let's go."

Blaine left the room first, sparing only a puzzled glance for the mess that covered the floors. Kurt wasn't sure how he was going to explain that one to Mr. Schue and Figgins the next day. Blame it on the storm, maybe.

Kurt turned his back on the windows, ready to follow Blaine out, but something made him pause. He turned back and stared outside at the grey sky just outside the choir room. He slowly approached the far wall, standing on a chair and peering outside of what used to be the window.

Outside, an eddy of wind swirled around a small tornado of colored leaves in a circle higher than the building. The leaves were vibrant colors—greens and reds and oranges mixed all together, sharing the breeze in the wrong season. He knew what it was, of course. One last goodbye, the one that they never could properly share with each other.

He raised a hand in a silent farewell, watching as the leaves danced around each other, then turned his back on the window one last time.

He left the room to follow Blaine.

To go where he was needed.


End file.
